


This is where we begin (you know how it'll end)

by nerakrose



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Magic, Community: trope_bingo, M/M, and eve has no idea how she ended up friends with the two of them, and it appears q has balkan roots, bond and q are an old married couple though, bond didn't take the job for the paperwork, bond q and eve are total bros, bond q and eve might have a drinking problem though, complete with bickering and all, except not really, it wasn't me, q didn't take the job for bond, who thought it was a good idea to partner q and bond i don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerakrose/pseuds/nerakrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a prank is played, Bond and Q share an office and too much alcohol is consumed. Also, demons.</p>
<p>Completes AU: magic/accidental marriage on my trope bingo card.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is where we begin (you know how it'll end)

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by [palavapeite](http://archiveofourown.org/users/palavapeite). ♥ all remaining mistakes are mine.

Q was fast asleep on a pile of paperwork when Bond came back to HQ. Almost everyone else on the night shift had left, and the morning crew had started coming in.

"Go home," Bond said, shaking his shoulder gently. "Q? Wake up and go home."

"Mh." Q sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry. Had lots of stuff to sign... and a couple of reports to finish." He blinked at his desk and the absolute mess that was his paperwork. "I think."

"Sleep first."

Only then did Q look up at Bond and realise the state he was in. "So I take it the vampires aren't vampires anymore?" he asked, eyeing the blood splattered over Bond's suit, the hefty gash over his right eye and the bruises on his knuckles.

"They're not vampires anymore," Bond answered, the line of his lips curling ever so slightly. "Now they're just dead people. I wrecked the new gun. Think you can salvage it?" He fished a tangle of metal out from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

Q clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Throw it in the scrap box," he said and turned back to the paperwork. He gathered the whole mess into two approximate piles of 'things to sign' and 'reports' and carried the pile of 'things to sign' over to Bond's desk. "These need your signature too. And I'm not writing your report this time."

"Okay." Bond eyed the stack of 'things to sign' with disdain. Q went home.

*

"We got intel on a bunch of pagan magicians setting up a black magic circle down in Dover," Tanner said, handing Bond and Q file cases. "Eve's already there with backup, but M wants you both on the scene. No explosions."

Q snorted. Bond smiled.

"Anything you got, Q, we need it. These guys look nasty." Tanner gave him one of his what-can-you-do-smiles and left.

"How about those amulets you showed me last week?" Bond sat on the edge of Q's desk, leafing through the files. He whistled.

"Still at an experimental stage. Too risky," Q replied, making annotations in his own copies. "There's no guarantee they'll shield us."

"Don't need shields," Bond said, amused.

"Some of us like to come out of jobs _intact_ , Bond."

Bond had taken the gauze off his forehead, but there was still a large red scabbed-over wound above his right eye. There'd been some bad bruising in the first few days after, which had made everyone - well, everyone that dared, which excluded everyone but Q and Eve - suggest he take a few days off and possibly get checked for a concussion or sign up as a circus freak (that one was all Q). Bond ignored them.

"I expressly forbid you to sneak an amulet out of the lab," Q said but Bond smiled at him. " _James_."

"I won't sneak an amulet out of the lab," Bond said and stood up. "What do we need?"

"Grab the old shields. And something non-lethal to knock these guys out. I..." Q frowned at his notes. "I'll be with Eve. Got a couple of new counter-charms I've been wanting to try out."

"I'm politely refraining from commenting on the fact you have a no experimental weapons on the field policy," Bond said, leaving his file case on the desk. "I'll run up the car."

Q politely ignored Bond's comment and went to get his spell books.

Four dead demons, three unconscious magicians, one near-death scare - and, miraculously, no explosions - later, Bond, Eve and Q were back at HQ getting sloshed on Q's homemade rakija.

"I thought I'd told you not to sneak an amulet out of the lab," Q accused Bond, who shrugged and refilled his shot glass.

"I didn't _sneak_ it out of the lab," Bond answered. "I checked it out. With my signature."

When no words came out of Q's mouth, Eve started giggling.

"I was only following orders," Bond said, his eyes twinkling. Q sputtered.

"Remind me to never - no, screw it. I'll put a permanent ban on Bond in or near the lab. I'll reprogram the darn lock system to keep you out." Q glared at Bond. Bond refilled Q's glass.

"Got any of the honey stuff?" Bond asked.

"If you're breaking out the honey stuff, I'm going _home_ ," Eve declared. "That shit is vile."

"You drank it all last time," Q reminded Bond, who made a face. "But -" Bond perked up. "I've got two bottles at home."

"Definitely leaving," Eve said and stood up. "Thanks for the drink."

*

Hangovers were only hangovers if you let them be hangovers, was Q's personal motto. Giving evil a name and all that, everyday stuff, faced it at work all the time, yada yada.

It didn't diminish the throbbing behind his eyes and when he'd dragged himself over to his desk with coffee in his mug and a sweet donut in a bag from the coffee shop round the corner, and saw a week old pile of paperwork, his eyes were quite literally _offended_.

"Bond," Q groaned. "Couldn't you have filed this shit when you were done with it?" He glared at the offending stacks and took a sip of his coffee. Defiantly.

Bond wasn't in the office. Well, wasn't that just _peachy_. Q set down his mug and picked up the paperwork, swearing when he realised some of it had bloodstains on it. He took it all and left the office.

"Hey, Patrick? Can you be a sweetheart and help me file this?" Q did his best to look harassed - admittedly, the hangover was working in his favour.

"I really can't -"

"Please," Q pleaded. "Bond didn't do it because Bond is an arsehole and I've a million other things to do and it would really make my day, you know?" Q sighed. "I know you're not hired for this, but I'd appreciate it."

Patrick narrowed his eyes at Q. "It's going to cost, you know."

"Anything you want, it's yours. I'll even get you that horrible coffee blend you like, even if its very existence in this world offends me."

"You're on." Patrick took the stack out of his hands.

Half an hour later, while Q was looking at the schematics for a more efficient salt dispenser and contemplating the merits of painkillers, Patrick came to find him.

"Are you sure you want this filed?" he asked, holding out a piece of paper.

"Mmh," Q answered, not looking up from his laptop.

"But..." Patrick frowned. "This one needs to go to - are you absolutely _sure_?"

"Is there a problem?" Q looked over his shoulder. "Are the papers not correctly filled out? If Bond forgot to sign something again, put it on his desk - no, actually, put it on mine, I'll make sure he gets it done."

"O-kay," Patrick answered dubiously. "I guess you and Bond...yeah?"

"Yeah?" Q frowned.

Patrick stared at him.

"Is there something wrong?"

"No, I guess there isn't." He paused. "I'll just go and file this, then." He stared at Q as if waiting for him to challenge him on the statement.

"Yeah," Q said and turned back to his schematics.

*

Eve came to see Q in the office on the following Friday, looking very concerned and very...confused.

"Q, is there something you and Bond have forgotten to tell me?"

"Er, the funding for the werewolf research project came through?" Q blinked. "I thought I had let you know."

"No, not that." Eve seated herself gingerly on the edge of Q's desk. She glanced over at Bond's desk, but Bond was out on a recce. "How long have we been friends?"

"Couple of years?" Q replied. "Since I got transferred to London?"

"Mhh." Eve looked him straight in the eye. "I never expected Bond to come out and say anything, so that's...well, that. But _you_."

"But me?" Q was completely nonplussed. "What are you talking about?"

"It's okay if you want to keep it on the down low," Eve said carefully. "I guess I just thought I deserved to know. As your friend."

"Know _what_?" Q demanded. "What are you talking about?"

Eve narrowed her eyes at him. "You and Bond," she said. "You could've told me you were dating before you went and got _married_."

Q's jaw dropped. "What," he choked. "What. Married - dating - _what_." He blinked, looked over at Bond's messy desk and empty chair and then at Eve. "Why would you even _think_ that?"

Bond chose that moment to enter their office.

"Bond," Q said. "Tell Eve we're not married."

"We're not married," Bond said as he shrugged out of his jacket. Then he paused, turning to face them both slowly. "Why does she think we're married?" He looked at Eve as he put the jacket over the back of his chair. "We're not even... Q, have we even fucked?"

"Not that I recall," Q said, then turned towards Eve, who'd been looking between them in bewilderment. "Who started the rumour?"

"I - there's no _rumour_ \- I mean," Eve shook her head. "Patrick told me. He said you'd filed a notice for a civil partnership a couple of days ago."

Bond and Q looked at each other. "I have no recollection of this happening," Q said. "Weird."

"In any case, we're not married," Bond said. "Filing a notice doesn't make anyone a married couple. It's the signing of the civil partnership document that does." He shrugged. "And so long as we haven't signed one of those, I'm not concerned."

"But." Eve looked between them. "But you're dating?"

Q cracked up laughing and Bond chuckled, shaking his head.

"Seriously?" Q wheezed. " _Seriously_?"

*

"Would it make a difference if I begged on my knees for you to return the equipment in one piece?" Q gave Bond a stern look. "It's the same old song and dance and quite frankly, it's turning into something of a trope."

"I make no promises about what may happen when I act in self-defense," Bond answered. He leaned close. "Or what happens when I defend others from harm."

"It's a _recce_ ," Q pointed out. "I don't know why everyone and their secretary insists that you're the best damn agent in the entire kingdom when I know for a fact that you repeatedly screw up your missions. I'm starting to suspect it's to annoy me."

"I was 'screwing up' missions before you were born." Bond grinned. Q glared.

"I don't know whether to be impressed or unimpressed, to be honest." Q crossed his arms. "You're going to personally pay for that recorder if you lose it or break it."

"Duly noted." Bond smirked.

"Get out of my face."

As soon as Bond was out of the door, Q opened his laptop and turned on the tracker. He let it run in the background while he worked with the data from the tests on the werewolf blood that double-oh-six had brought in a few days ago.

Very unlike Bond, there were no explosions or other hiccups, and both Bond and the equipment returned unscathed.

"Is this where I test whether you've been replaced by a skrull?" Q asked, accepting the recorder from Bond. "Because I can totally test for that."

"Do I dare ask?" Bond leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head.

"Better not."

Q transferred Bond's newly acquired data over and they both worked in silence for the remainder of the night; Bond writing a detailed report - very unlike him, Q was seriously starting to consider pulling out his skrull testing equipment - and Q alternating between the werewolf project, Bond's recce intel and a doodle for a new type of gun.

*

Eve was the one to deliver the letter from the court. Instead of taking the letter and going to get officially married, which was absurd anyway _as they weren't dating_ , Bond framed it and hung it on the wall in their shared office.

"How did that even happen?" Q asked, gesturing at the letter. "I checked with Patrick and the document he sent in was genuine. He ran the scan himself. With the programme I invented."

"Prank," Bond said. "Somebody thought it was funny to slip it into our paperwork."

"Hm." Q frowned at the framed letter.

"That makes perfect sense," Eve said. "Slip it in with a bunch of papers that only need signing, and...well." She raised an eyebrow at them both. "Don't tell me you've never just signed everything in the pile to get it out of the way."

"Well," Q admitted. "I may have."

"You know the answer." Bond shrugged.

"So it was a prank," Eve said. "But what I don't get is, why would anyone attempt to play that prank?"

"I don't care." Bond went digging in Q's desk until he came up with a bottle of honeyed rakija. "Care for a toast to our almost-marriage?"

"James -"

"It's after hours," Bond pointed out. He retrieved three shot glasses and Eve grudgingly accepted one of them.

"Just the one," she said.

*

Bond had dropped the tie and rolled his shirt sleeves up, Eve had curled up on the floor against Q's desk and Q had kicked off his shoes. Tanner had been by the office once to deliver minutes from a meeting; those minutes were currently buried under a pile of weapons and half-finished prototypes on Q's desk.

"I thought you said just the one?" Bond asked, tipping the bottle towards Eve.

"I'll have another one, thanks." She held out her shot glass. "You know...isn't it weird how no one here questioned the fact you'd gotten married?"

"Not married," Q corrected.

"I thought they knew me better than that," Bond said. "I'm not exactly the marrying type."

"Wait, did _everyone_ know about that notice?" Q asked abruptly, trying to focus on Eve. He took off his glasses and polished them on the edge of his cardigan.

"Duh," Eve answered and sipped the liquor. "I overheard double-oh-six and Lucy from accounting talk about how lovely it was you two were going to cement your relationship."

Q gaped.

"You look adorable," Eve said.

"But how did they _know_?"

"Office gossip." Eve shrugged. "Probably Patrick let it slip, or the person who tried to pull this prank on you."

"Patrick wouldn't," Q said. "He's knows discretion. And also he likes me." He looked affronted.

*

Bond's replacement vampire gun broke down on him at a very inopportune moment. He was brought in post-haste and spent a whole day unconscious and hooked up to an IV with an experimental antidote as well as more monitors than Q could count.

"You are off field duty for a _month_ ," Q said as soon as Bond woke up. "Don't you dare arguing with me."

"Did you bring the entire office in here?" Bond asked. His voice was too weak to be Bond's voice.

"No," Q said tartly, ignoring the fact he had actually brought his laptop and all his work into Bond's sick room. "Only half of it."

Bond smiled. "For a month, you said?"

"No arguing."

"I'm not arguing." Bond closed his eyes. "It was your gun that failed, you know."

"I fixed it already."

"Stop feeling guilty."

"I don't feel _guilt_ ," Q said. "I feel _anger_."

"Well, that's something." The corners of Bond's mouth tugged upwards. "So, am I going to be a vampire? Your very own Spike? Or was it Angel? I forget."

"You never watched that series." Q glared at him. "And no, you're not. We don't think so."

"I need to die for it to happen anyway, right?"

"You technically did," Q informed him. "Your heart stopped for all of twenty-six seconds in the ambulance."

"Oh."

"Mmmh. So you see why we are worried. Can't have our best agent turn rogue on us."

There was a beat of silence. "I thought you thought I wasn't your best agent."

"And I thought you knew that vampires are sentient beings and therefore unable to turn rogue unless it's their wish," Q said. "You'd be a real Angel, you know. Complete with the manpain and all."

*

Bond didn't leave medical for another week and when he did, it was with a hefty prescription for iron supplements and orders to eat lots of steak and broccoli and to not come back in another three weeks _at least_. Q had absolutely nothing to do with that order.

Two weeks into his sick leave, he turned up at the office. Q threw him out. Bond came back the following day, this time with bagels and coffee.

"I'm bored," he said. "Give me something to do."

"Paperwork," Q said and pointed at a rather high (and growing) stack of papers to be signed on Bond's desk.

Bond made a face and left.

"Is that all there is?" he asked when he came back the next day. This time he brought pastries and cappuccinos. "Paperwork?"

"You're off field duty, remember," was Q's only answer to that. Bond grumbled and sat down, pulling the stack closer. He went to work.

"These just need to be signed?" Bond asked after a while.

"Yeah."

"And you went through all of it?"

"Most of it," Q admitted. "I've been busy, you know. Doing your work on top of mine."

"Well," Bond said, holding up a sheet of paper. "Look at this."

Q leaned over the gap between their desks to have a look. "Is that a civil partnership registration document?" He peered at it. " _With my signature on it_?"

"Yours, a registrar's and two witnesses'," Bond said. "The only signature missing is mine." He tapped at the empty line. "I'm curious about how they got Eve's witness signature."

"Who's Dominic?" Q asked, reaching for the sheet. "He's signed as the other witness. Do we have a Dominic in the department?"

"Dominic's the coffee shop guy from round the corner," Bond said, gesturing at Q's paper cup. "You know, this is very elaborate for a...prank." He frowned.

"What, you think the universe wants us to get married?" Q shook his head. "It's a stupid prank, that's all there is to it."

Bond came into work the next day with sandwiches and a frame for the almost completed civil partnership registration document. He hung it next to the letter from the court.

"Don't you think that's kind of creepy?" Q asked.

"Are you scared?" Bond asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"No," Q said. "It's just. I mean. Weird. Why don't you rip those things up and throw them away?"

"Because I'm not scared, Q." Bond sat down. "I don't care about this prank. I _don't care_ if people think we're married."

"But," Q said, gesticulating. "I'm confused."

"Look. It doesn't make an ounce of difference to me what people think about me - I know the truth about what I am and how I feel. And silly documents aren't going to change that."

"Oh. Okay. I suppose that makes sense." Q peered at the frames. "I still think it's creepy."

"Besides, the whole thing is hilarious." He grinned, spreading his hands. "You've got to admit that."

"Maybe," Q grudgingly agreed.

"Look, it's not hurting us, is it? Say the prank succeeded and we'd accidentally get married. What difference would it make to us? It's very easy to get a divorce these days, Q." Bond shrugged and picked up the paper bag from the coffee shop, offering it to Q. "Someone's having fun at our expense and well - I'm not letting them have the last laugh. So up it goes." He indicated the framed documents. "Cream cheese sandwich?"

*

There was a shapeshifter incident in Newcastle that completely wrecked the department and in particular Q's and Bond's office. Not so much because of the shapeshifter himself, but because Bond was extremely cranky, not being allowed on the job as he'd not been cleared for field duty yet, and Q's annoyance levels had rapidly reached nuclear when it became clear he had to work the case from the office _and_ deal with Bond at the same time.

And that's not to mention when Eve ended up in medical and the taskforce got doubled and _yet_ the shapeshifter kept slipping right through their hands.

Q was furious. The washroom just down the hall started stinking of Bond.

"I'm going to see M," Bond snarled. He'd already ruined two sandbags in the gym. "Fuck my fucking iron levels, I'm going to -"

"They got him," Q breathed, enlarging the camera feed. Bond stopped in his tracks. "No wait - yes - they fucking got him."

"Are you sure?" Bond demanded.

"He's in _my_ cuffs," Q said. "He can't shift while wearing them."

Bond exhaled slowly. "All right, I'm not going to see M. Yet," he amended. "I'm going to punch the gym instead."

"Have fun." Q stared at the trackers. "Send Eve my well-wishes, will you?"

"How'd you know I was going to see Eve?"

Q levelled an eye on him. "Really."

"Shut up," Bond grumbled and left. Q ran a hand through his hair and then picked up his mug. His coffee had long gone cold but he drank it anyway.

He stood up and followed Bond to medical.

*

Bond's success rate went up from 99% to 114% in the first month after he was allowed back out in the field.

"How is that possible?" Eve asked, looking over Q's shoulder.

"He brings the equipment back in one piece too," Q answered.

"That's kind of...sad," Eve commented. "So the previous scale counted a broken or missing weapon for 100% success?"

"And minor injuries," Q supplied. "Which naturally breaks the scale when none of these things happen on a regular basis anymore."

"What changed?"

"Fuck me if I know."

Q swivelled on his chair and leaned over to pick up something from Bond's desk. "This is the watch I gave him for the werewolf job last week. Have a look at it." He handed it over to Eve and then returned to his laptop and the notepad next to it.

"Not a scratch?"

"Nope."

"Is he ill? Dying?"

"Not that I know of." Q shrugged. "I'm not complaining. He comes back in one piece, the equipment comes back in one piece, and the job gets done. It's all I ever wanted." He tapped the desk with his pen. "Makes my life helluva lot easier."

Eve raised an eyebrow at him.

"My budget," Q explained. "And the paperwork."

"Hmm."

"We're having drinks when he gets back. You in?"

"It's four in the morning, Q."

"All the more reason to drink," he said with a smile.

*

Bond came back with breakfast and a small knife stuck in his thigh.

"Did you go into the coffee shop like that?" Q chided as he took the bags from Bond and pushed him into his desk chair. "You fucking moron."

"Eve can take it out."

"Eve will not take it out," Eve said, arms crossed. Bond huffed.

"Get me the first aid kid," Q said and knelt by Bond's feet. "Why didn't you take care of this before, well, getting _breakfast_?"

"I have my priorities in order," Bond replied. "Besides, I didn't want to miss drinks with you."

"I'm not pouring you a drink, so don't give me those eyes," Eve said as she handed Q the first aid kit. "I'm also not letting you have the bottle."

Bond made a face. Q pulled the knife out and Bond swore.

"That mouth," Q said and poured antiseptic solution over the wound. Bond glared at him, but didn't say a word.

Q closed the wound with butterfly bandages. "Go change," he said and gave him a roll of gauze. Bond limped out.

Eve leaned on Q's desk. "Are you sure he's not got an inoperable brain tumour he's not telling us about?"

"Positive." Q opened the bags Bond had brought. "Ohh, pastries."

"I'm stealing one of those," Eve said. "But I'm not staying for drinks."

"Aww, Eve!"

"I need to sleep," she said. "I don't have tomorrow off, unlike you and your old dog."

"I'm not old," Bond said, having reappeared in the doorway. He'd changed into sweatpants, but was still wearing his shirt and suit jacket.

"Are you quite all right?" Q asked, indicating his attire. "Or is this the new office fashion?"

"I didn't have any clean t-shirts left in my locker. And yours don't fit me," he added when Q opened his mouth. "I look like a male stripper in your shirts, Q. Not happening."

"Point taken." Q handed him a bagel from the bag.

"When have you worn Q's shirts?" Eve asked, picking out one of the pastries.

"Shirt, in singular." Bond dropped back into his desk chair. "It was when Q put one of those pine tree air fresheners into my locker."

"The entire washroom stank."

"Of pine."

"Of your sweat."

"It was _mean_ ," Bond complained, leaning back in his chair. "We really need to stop having our after hours drinks at the office. These chairs suck."

Eve blinked. "Ok, you know what. I'm leaving. See you boys later. Thanks for the food." She patted Bond on the head as she went past. "Q, I'll call you."

"Do you have any of the honey stuff?"

"There's a little bit left."

"We should go to your flat."

"We should absolutely _not_ go to my flat." Q stuck half a bagel in his mouth as he dug out the nearly empty bottle of honeyed rakija from his desk. "Last time you went to my flat you broke my bed."

"Not in the way I'd have liked to break it." Bond accepted the bottle and uncapped it. He took a large sip. "Why did we never fuck anyway?"

"You never tried," Q answered and took the bottle back for a drink.

"Are you that easy?"

"No." He finished his bagel and then dug out a pastry. "But you never did try."

"Neither did you," Bond pointed out.

Q shrugged. "It's the way things are, I suppose."

"Mmmh." Bond stole the bottle back and emptied it with two large chugs. "You ever thought about it?"

"No, can't say I have," Q replied thoughtfully. "Why, did you?"

"No," Bond said, but his lips were forming a smile and his eyes were twinkling.

"Liar."

Bond shrugged. "If you think so." He was still smiling.

*

"Did you ever find out who was behind the marriage prank?" Eve asked.

"Nope." Q handed her the new vampire gun prototype and the review sheet. "There you go."

"Are you even investigating?"

"Nope."

Eve stalled. "Isn't that kind of...weird?"

"We're not that bothered, to be honest." Q gave her a smile and a half shrug.

"You don't make any sense."

"Maybe not." Q shrugged, then caught eye of Bond over Eve's shoulder. "Oi, Bond! Tell Eve why we're not investigating the prank."

"Nice office decoration," Bond said, handing Q a vampire gun prototype nearly identical to Eve's as well as a completed review sheet. "There you go. Shoots like a dream."

"Is that the same one I'm testing?" Eve asked, giving Bond a suspicious look.

"Yup," Q answered. "Except yours got a few tweaks to it."

"Cool. See you then." She glanced between both of them, then left.

"Got more things for me to test?" Bond asked.

"None ready to be tested." Q smiled. "But if you feel like doing me a favour, you could type up your results from the review sheet."

Bond narrowed his eyes at Q but took the sheet back and went over to his desk. "I could be doing important things, you know."

"This is an important thing, you know."

*

A witch up in Holloway accidentally opened the gates to Hell, which kept the entire department busy for thirty-three hours straight. It was only thanks to Q's finalised shielding amulets that they suffered no casualties - no _deadly_ ones anyway. Well, as far as living creatures for concerned.

Q's desk was a different thing altogether.

"Look," he said, staring at the broken wood and the scattered paperwork and pens and _broken mug_ , goddammit, that had been his favourite. "I know we're all sleep deprived and I know we're all cranky and I know you can be a real disaster, Bond, but was this really necessary?" He rubbed his face. "First my bed and now my desk?"

"I'll buy you a new one," Bond said. "Is that rakija soaking up your papers over there?" He indicated the pool of golden-brown liquid slowly saturating Q's mess of papers.

"It is." Q sighed.

"Waste of good alcohol," Bond said mournfully.

"Did I walk into this conversation at the wrong moment?" Eve asked from behind. "Did I mishear when you said Bond broke your bed?"

"No, he broke my bed." Q sighed again.

"Do I want to know how Bond broke your bed?"

"I'm standing right here," Bond said. "In this room. Right in front of you."

Eve stared at him. She looked even more exhausted than Q felt. "How did you break Q's bed?"

"That is a long and complicated story best told over good alcohol." Bond sighed tiredly. "It involves a bottle of Q's finest rakija, Q's stupid ass cat and the fact I was near blind at the time."

"Near blind...?" Eve looked at Q. "That was _years_ ago."

"My cat is still traumatised, I'll have you know."

"What happened to the desk?" Eve then asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," Bond said and dropped into his own desk chair. "I am mourning the loss of alcohol."

"It was a _very_ good bottle, too. The last one from the really good batch." Q went to sit on Bond's desk. He stared at his desk despondently. "Do I want to take the risks of magicking it away? It's just making me depressed."

"I said I'd buy you a new one."

"Will you also get rid of the old one?" Q asked, looking up. "I can't face this mess right now. I could cry."

"Eve, do you have any booze?" Bond asked.

"I was counting on Q," Eve answered.

"I'm sorry I broke Q's booze," Bond said. "And his desk. And his bed. I already apologised about the bed."

"It's okay." Q sighed and stood up. "I'm going home. To sleep. And forget all the horrible things I've seen." He paused. Then shuddered. "In order to avoid poisoning myself, I think you two should come along and help me drink my booze."

"Who's driving?" Eve asked. Q and Bond both groaned loudly. "Cab it is!"

*

The clean up after the Holloway Hell was almost worse than the actual dealings with it.

"Not another one?" Bond groaned. "I've been chasing demons all over southern England for a week! The blood doesn't even come off my hands anymore!"

"Sorry," Tanner said. "You're the only free agent right now. Everyone else is also out there chasing demons."

"There'll be booze after," Q said, nudging Bond. "Go. I could use the desk space."

"What happened to your own desk?" Tanner asked.

"Bond happened to it," Q answered. "Go. I'll write your goddamned report if you just get your arse out of my face."

"Fine," Bond grumbled and got up.

*

"So, I killed the last demon," Bond said two days later. "And before Tanner or Eve or fucking M herself comes through that door to send me out on another job, I'm getting the fuck out of here. Are you coming?"

"Wash your hands first," Q said. "Try this. It's demon repellent stuff." He threw an unlabelled bottle with a dark green liquid in it at Bond, who caught it.

"Where do you want to go?" Bond called out from the bathroom.

"Your pick," Q called back. "You up for finalising some of this paperwork before leaving?"

"Absolutely not." Bond leaned backwards to have a look at Q out of the door. He'd dropped his shirt and both his arms were lathered up to the elbows with the green stuff. "So if I pick, does that mean we can go out proper?"

"What's proper?" Q quirked an eyebrow. He picked up his new mug and took a sip of his coffee. "Booze at my place or shawarma from the next street over?"

"Whichever makes it a date," Bond replied.

Q choked on his coffee. "Are you serious?"

"Completely."

"And you're not a skrull?"

"I'm also not a vampire," Bond said. "Which I think should work in my favour."

"You're covered in demon blood and green soap," Q said. "I'm not sure anything you say could work in your favour right now."

Bond shook his head and disappeared back into the washroom. When he re-emerged, he was completely clean and had put on a fresh set of clothes.

"Do you think you could fill out a review sheet for the soap?" Q asked, inspecting Bond's squeaky clean fingers.

"I was serious," Bond said, eyes twinkling. "I want to take you out."

"Well then." Q pushed the chair back from the desk and stood up. "Let's go. You better have picked a nice place. I'm starving."

"We're going to your place," Bond said. Q sputtered.

"I thought it was going to be a date!"

"It is," Bond reassured him. "It's the intent that makes the difference."

"I'm not completely sold," Q said, narrowing his eyes at him.

"I'll cook you dinner," Bond offered.

Q contemplated this for a few seconds. "All right," he said. "You'll do."

_FIN_

**Author's Note:**

> This is [rakija](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rakia). My sister's man is from Montenegro, so I have been subjected to the homemade kind on more than one occasion. In that family they make rakija from peaches + a variant spiced with honey.


End file.
